


Wishes Are Not Free

by lettalady



Series: WISH [3]
Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Hydra (Marvel), Marvel Universe, Post-HYDRA Reveal, SHIELD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 16:16:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4926496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettalady/pseuds/lettalady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WISH #3<br/>In the third installment of the series we see how Loki's actions have once again influenced our SHIELD agent, as well as what happened immediately after the end of the last installment, Wish Away The Hours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wishes Are Not Free

 

You hear footfall and the echo of voices over the hum of the engines before the group appears at the edge of the room. It is one voice in particular that draws your interest. Agent Barton is back after yet another span of time spent away from the helicarrier, away from base… off God knows where doing God knows what.

Though you’d rather appear industrious, dedicated to the posting helped you to claim upon your return to civilization, you can’t help but look up from your station to watch the group’s progress into and through the area. He pauses in his assessment of the large room to lock eyes with you for a moment. One half inhalation of breath from you and the moment passes – he turns and continues his appraisal of the bridge and the personnel present.

It is just a few seconds but the message is clear: Things between the pair of you stand. The coldness. The distance. The secrets.

Though you’re no longer stationed in the sub-arctic in an abandoned – nearly abandoned – substation, you’ve never quite felt so alone. You may be surrounded by hundreds of people but they all seem to murmur the same thing when they think you can’t hear them.

_That’s **her**. I bet she did it. They say she’s clean. Passed every test they threw at her. But who’s to argue otherwise? Medic’s gone. Ashes’re all that’s left of him in that burned out husk of a station. And the other one? Her tech? They can’t make sense of what he says, the days he speaks. Sure, we need all the help there is but – **her**? Here? _

On the way back to civilization, Wallace in tow and not yet gibbering, you’d practiced your explanation of events with Agent Barton. Clint. At the time you’d still called him… That was when he was still on a first name basis with you. But it didn’t matter how many times you and Clint went over it, it always sounded like you were leaving something out.

That’s the reason for the disbelief. That’s the reason for the rumors. Everyone can tell there’s a chunk of the story missing despite your well-rehearsed song and dance.

Credit where credit is due – you are. Maybe you _could_ have laid out the events as they had happened… would have, if things hadn’t gone so very wrong. But you can’t very well tell everyone that Wallace’s madness was Loki’s work. That the fire was Loki’s doing, as well. That Stuart might very well _wish_ for death but that’s something that Loki won’t allow for a long, long while. At least not with the expectation of your job or your freedom remaining intact.

The group takes up residence at a distance just far enough from you to keep you from being able to make out the fine details of the conversation. Barton, having apparently said his piece, takes a stance on the outer edge of the group, careful to keep most of the room in his sight-line as is his habit.

It’s hard to judge exactly how long he’s been gone this time. Two weeks? Three? Four? He doesn’t appear bruised or battered. He isn’t walking with a limp as he had after his last mission with the rest of the Avengers. If you keep staring you’ll draw attention, and that’s the last thing you want. More attention. It would only spawn more rumors.

Shame your monitor just won’t hold your attention. The next time you look over to observe the group he has turned his head just enough to be able to look at you out of the corner of his eye. Just for a second it is believable that it is the attention of the man that had written you every so often while you were trying not to freeze to death – that the man that had offered up recipes and jovial stories of the outside world is staring back at you. But then he blinks. This isn’t Clint, compatriot and friend. This is Agent Barton. Hawkeye – and you can feel the weight of his attention. He’s looking into you, through you, searching for any cracks that may have appeared during his absence.

Maybe if he looks at you long enough he’ll realize the damage being done by this long held silence. You’ll keep the secrets, both his and your own, and he can continue being angry with you until the world stops spinning – but…

Oh the secrets. They threaten to crush you.

-

Staring at Clint down the shaft of one of his arrows is not something that you want to do with great frequency or long duration. Ever, if you can help it. Doing so while he’s angry? Not very wise. Far from it, in fact. And yet here you stand, one arm outstretched towards him, your hand held out in the universal signal to _– stop! –_ with your other arm you are reaching behind you, basically mirroring the motion to halt and hoping that the man behind you will cooperate.

If you can indeed call him a man.

Loki – the trickster that had, upon a time, utilized his skills in manipulation and magic to fiddle with the aforementioned man’s head. Sure, a scepter was used to aid him in that venture – a freaking frightening scepter that you suppose must still be here on Earth – but that didn’t change the fact that it was Loki that did the meddling.

Something that Clint is holding against him.

You repeat your plea. “Clint. Please.” You’ve positioned yourself in the way of Barton’s shot, hoping that he won’t just fire and take you out before going after the god he’s vowed vengeance upon. It’s not the wisest course of action to stand between the two, but you’ve gone and done it. No backing out, now.

Clint just says one word to you, his muscles tight. “Move.” It comes out closer to a barked command than a calmly spoken word.

You shake your head, cursing internally at the situation. Though Clint has slackened his hold on the bow and arrow he still hasn’t lowered it, and certainly hasn’t regained control of his expression. The look he is giving Loki is giving you chills. Standing apart as you are, there is no hope of disarming him. As though that were even an option. This is Clint Barton. Hawkeye. An _Avenger_ … you’re just an agent of SHIELD, one that is standing in his way.

All hell is breaking loose in the world outside of this substation – HYDRA trying to take out SHIELD in one massive blow – and you’re here trying to prevent an Avenger from capturing a known enemy. The three of you should be securing Stuart and then hunting down Wallace before he can escape or somehow get word out to his HYDRA contacts that there have been complications at the substation. Basically the three people who _could_ be doing something to help SHIELD, _should_ be doing something to help, are instead standing around in the control room of a nearly abandoned station with one of them feeling murderous.

You swallow, thinking of Loki standing somewhere behind you. _Hopefully_ only one…

This is how you’re repaying Clint, the singular person that didn’t turn their back on you after you got reassigned to the station. This is how you repay him for keeping you sane.

“He came to warn us.” Well – came to warn you – but did so in knowing you would act, right? Sure. If you forget the small detail of Loki asking you to leave with him – his request that you turn your back and travel with him to his _elsewhere_. “We need to focus on HYDRA.”

Clint flexes his jaw before shaking his head at you, “Why do you think you can trust _him_?”

You can’t very well put your finger on it, to be honest. It’s just something you can sense below all that contempt for his brother, hidden under that mask of disdain he wears. Could he be manipulating you for his own enjoyment? That might be possible. More than might be…

At least Loki has the sense to keep quiet and let this play out. Or maybe he’s just enjoying the hell out of the show – standing behind you grinning at the proceedings. Maybe he’s just enjoying watching the little mortlings dance before he does what he wants.

You do your best to sound confident when you reply. “It’s called _a leap of faith_.”

“Leap of faith.” Clint snorts out the phrase as he lowers his arrow a fraction so he’s no longer aiming right at your head. It is an action your now weary arms rejoice in. If he lowers his weapon entirely perhaps you can stop holding your arms out like a crossing guard. He is focusing on you, though you know he’s watching Loki’s every movement in his peripheral vision. “Did you even look before you leapt?”

That makes you bristle, and with that surge of indignation out comes a sharp reply. “Do you? Ever? Or do you just shoot and hope your mental math is correct?”

Loki’s laughter under his breath comes just moments before you feel the pressure of his chest pressing into your still-held-out-in-his-direction palm. Your fingers happen upon the rip in the soft fabric of his tunic and slip through the tear, allowing you to press your fingertips into the exposed skin underneath.

The unexpected contact, skin on skin no less, makes you jump and whirl to put your back towards Clint. It gives you an up close view of the sharp smile Loki has on his face. Oh he’s enjoying himself alright. He moves his attention lower, focusing his eyes on yours to effectively send Clint the message that though armed, he is not causing a great deal of alarm. It is bravado – mostly bravado. Clint wields a weapon of fiber and steel; one that would wound, unlike your ineffective ICERs. “While your fire is entertaining, it serves no purpose if it gets us shot.”

Clint’s disapproving tone comes at your back while you stare up at the mirth-filled eyes of the god standing mere inches away from you. “Hope you’ve considered that he’s probably setting you up for a fall.”

Now you’re annoyed at the pair of them – Clint for threatening you, and Loki for so thoroughly enjoying himself – as well as being doubly annoyed with yourself. You’ve dug your hole, throwing yourself in with Loki. If anything goes sideways you’re just as responsible for whatever comes to pass as the master of manipulation currently standing there calculating the odds with a damned smirk on his face.

So what are your choices? Stand here between them like a hall monitor or get back to work. You choose the latter and a nonverbal answer as you step out of the line of fire and towards the now-unconscious Stuart. “Mmmhmmm.” Stuart may have just tried to kill you, but tending to him is a place to start. If they want to continue fighting – even kill each other – fine. You’ll secure Stuart, find Wallace, and find a way to help SHIELD, all on your own. You speak softly, almost to yourself as you stalk to the side of the room where Stuart remains slumped over, “Not so worried about the falling. Just the sudden stop.”

To your surprise no further argument or sounds of a fight come from behind you. A quick glance back reveals that both men have seemingly forgotten the other, choosing to watch you instead. Clint’s expression conveys concern, with a dash of confusion thrown in the mix. Loki? Still smiling, though not as fully as he had been when standing mere inches away from you. You try not to read too much into that, forcing your attention back around to Stuart. The longer you take to study Loki, the longer he has to study you. You’ve already given him so much ground – admitted to interest, admitted to trusting him despite all that says you shouldn’t.

As you kneel down near Stuart, Clint moves to the monitors on the console to begin the screen by screen search for Wallace. Working quickly, you recheck Stuart’s vitals. Loki may have done so a few moments prior, but it can’t hurt to be thorough. Besides, he was the one to have tossed Stuart across the room. Why trust his assurances that your ex-medic is ok?

After confirming his pulse and that the impact hadn’t snapped his spine, you begin the task of disarming him. A chill runs through you as you pull the fourth knife off him… something you hope the other two are too distracted to notice. As much as you’d like to claim Stuart’s preparedness for a fight to be a result of the endless number of drills run during your stay at the station, it’s far more likely the result of his HYDRA training.

Meaning? Meaning those weapons, some of them at least, he intended to use on you – after the administering of the fluid held within the syringe. You shudder again and do your best to seek out the others in the room without deliberately turning to show how unsteady you are at the moment.

Clint is mostly occupied by the monitors. He’s standing at such an angle as to be able to type in commands and scour the screens while also taking care to keep the rest of the room in his sight – specifically, Loki. Especially Loki. At the moment Clint is muttering about the quality of the equipment – something Wallace might appreciate – and Loki…

Loki isn’t standing near him, as you had assumed he would be. The moment you spot Loki standing just two paces off your flank, you jump, rocking back onto your heels as a short curse escapes you. You hadn’t heard him approach. Yes, he’s wearing fabrics other than leather, but his boots…  You should have heard the creak or stomp of his boots.

Once again you have the attention of both men, your yipped explicative having pulled Clint’s focus away from his search. You bury your surprise in a tone of annoyance and shake your head as you glare at Loki. “You know he might have been able to tell us where Wallace is right now.” Maybe you’ll find a way to say _thank you_ for saving your life after you’ve ridden out this adrenaline rush.

Loki’s eyebrows arch up as he drags his eyes down from where you are kneeling by the unconscious man to focus on the man himself. A smile still lingers on his lips but it’s not the same as the one he had been giving you. “He might still.”

“He’s _unconscious._ ”

You can’t help but point out the obvious, and then wish like hell you hadn’t. Before you can react Loki lunges past you to where Stuart is sprawled, his hand and forearm turning blue once more as he claps his right hand underneath Stuart’s neck. Sitting off to his left, you have a fraction of a second to wonder how chocking an unconscious man will do any bit of good – and then Stuart’s eyes jerk open. The previously unresponsive man releases a howl of pain that echoes around the control room. Loki has your ex-medic held by his neck, pinned against the wall though Stuart scrambles frantically to be freed from his grasp.  As Stuart claws at Loki’s hand his legs flop ineffectively over the floor – he can gain no purchase to better fend of Loki’s attack.

Commotion follows – a chorus of commands barked by Clint to accompany Stuart’s howls. You’d like to blame shock for your lack of motion. Yes, shock is a far more comforting answer, rather than acknowledging that you’re _happy_ that Stuart is suffering. He’s HYDRA. He betrayed SHIELD. He betrayed _you_ – you, who spent the better part of two years at his side, none the goddamn wiser.

It’s Clint’s look of alarm, his disappointment at your hesitation following in quick succession, which gets you moving again. _His_ first instinct was to move to protect Stuart. Traitor though he may be, Clint is trying to --- and here you’re sitting on your heels considering giving Loki just a bit more freedom to do as he wishes. You give yourself a mental shake and shift forward to try to pry Loki off Stuart.

Loki reaches out and blocks your path as you close the distance, holding you at bay for a moment, your reach stalled by his previously free hand. He has you half blocked, half snared via the use of his left arm. You gain an inch, and though you are hesitant to admit it, get the feeling that he isn’t so much faltering in his grip but rather guiding your hands closer to their goal in a controlled manner. He wants you to touch him, just on _his_ terms.

Your fingertips graze their mark just before you press your palms against his skin in an attempt to latch onto his entirely blue forearm. You instantaneously feel cold. Not the gentle, refreshing chill of ice water on a hot day, but a burning cold that precedes a loss of feeling. It is but a few seconds of exposure and then you are rocked backward, thrown off him by a hard push that sends you scooting back across the floor.

You remain kneeling, unobservant of your surroundings for a moment as your mind processes what just happened. Why had touching him hurt you when just a few minutes prior you’d had your hand pressed against the lean muscles of his chest _without_ such an occurrence?

Frost. Goddamned. Giant. If only your brain would keep hold of that fact. You stare at the palms of your hands, the nerves within screaming as feeling begins to return. Aside from keeping you on your toes, another of Loki’s apparent talents includes the natural ability to cause icy havoc with intense precision – something clearly evident after having been anchored to him unharmed, while watching the other arm be used to torture a man.

“Are you alright?”

Which had asked that? You can’t be sure. Nearly all of your focus remains on your hands, on the desire to make the feeling of pins and needles stabbing into your skin to _stop_. A dull ache lies underneath the protestations of the nerves – your bones now joining the chorus of pain signals being sent to your brain. It is an ache that starts at your fingertips and expands, drifting up through your fingers and joints towards your wrists.

“Are you oh-kay?”

“Ow.”

Eloquence and grace, that’s you. The ache has you scowling. If this is what you’re feeling after the briefest of touches… Stuart may be a traitor but what Loki is doing to him right now – the prolonged skin contact – You force yourself to ignore the little voice within calling for Stuart’s blood. You’ll not abide torture. You won’t.

Lifting your eyes to Loki, his victim still writhing within his grasp, you join in with Clint’s repeated command. “Release. Him.” Though your hands are still voicing protestations of the previous contact you begin your approach with the same intent as before. You’ll pry Loki off Stuart finger by finger if you must – maybe try a layer of cloth to battle the ill effects suffered since he doesn’t appear to be keen on releasing his catch until after he sends Stuart into shock.

Loki twists his attention for a moment, shifting his glare from Stuart to you. His hand is digging into Stuart’s neck – if he’s not careful he’ll crush his captive’s windpipe and then where will you be? But Loki doesn’t appear concerned with that. He has Stuart’s not inconsiderable bulk held in place as though it requires no effort at all.

No, right now Loki’s focus is only on you. Clint doesn’t even appear to register on his radar. As you watch, Loki’s focus drifts down ever-so-pointedly to your still tingling hands. He lifts his attention to your face with that same close inspection, causing your abdomen clench and a heat to rush through your system. Is it lust you’re feeling? Or fear?

“Don’t forget yourself, Agent. Or who you’re talking to.”

Right. Loki doesn’t like being ordered around. Particularly not by a human – even if said human is one he seems to go out of his way to interact with. How the hell did he find you way the fuck out here, anyway? Paired with his previous actions, and the look he is giving you – are his words merely meant as playful reminder? Or is he truly playing you. Should you really take that utterance as a threat?

The most important question of all: does it matter? At least the hum you now feel throughout your body distracts from the receding pins and needles in your hands. You lick your lips, flicking your eyes from Loki’s enthralling stare to the man he has held hostage, up to Clint, and then back again to Loki. “If – if you freeze his throat he won’t be able to breathe, let alone speak.”

Clint has moved away from the control room monitors, taking a few steps to approach from the opposite side. Perhaps between the two of you you’ll be able to pull the god off his quarry. Despite your still tingling fingers, and the knowledge that you are outclassed in terms of strength, you have no choice but to try. You should have tried to snag one of the many knives you’d pulled off Stuart. At the moment they’re all beyond reach.

Loki holds out his hand, seemingly preparing to block your reach once more. You actually find yourself hesitating as a result of the motion. Is he indicating for you to wait? Telling you and Clint both that he’s going to comply without being forced away from Stuart?

Yes, but not before doing something that sends a fresh wave of chills through you – something that causes your emotions to somersault once more and further question why, exactly, you feel a connection to him. Loki leans in to position himself a mere few inches from Stuart’s face, flexing his fingers rather than applying more pressure as he snarls at the captured man. “You’ll answer what they put to you. Truthfully. What you feel now is child’s play. You will beg for something as kind as this if you anger me. Do we have an understanding?”

Stuart doesn’t manage a verbal reply but his agreement is apparent. Gurgles escape his lips as he nods, his eyes held wide open as though blinking might cause Loki to inflict further punishment.

 Just like that Loki releases Stuart, standing as though lifted to his feet by an unseen pair of hands. He sidesteps, creating room by Stuart’s side for you to move in. When Stuart winces as you reach to check his pulse you scowl, not daring to turn to direct the gaze at the cause – but instead sharing the expression with Clint who is standing close off your right shoulder.

Clint says the injured man’s name a half dozen times before any recognition dawns. Stuart has yet to take his eyes off Loki. Clint is persistent throughout your rechecking of Stuart’s vitals. You’re not even sure the point of it. He might very well be going into shock. What are you supposed to do about it, though? He’s the doctor, not you. Still, Clint continues to try to engage Stuart. “Where is he? Where might he go?”

Facial tics pull at Stuart’s features sporadically. He responds, slowly at first, his voice rasping from the abuse his throat has suffered. “I don’t. Know. I don’t. I don’t. I don’t know.”

When he looks between Loki and Clint his eyes betray his fear, and you imagine you can see just how close to the edge of sanity he sits. But there’s also something else held in the look that he is giving them. Defiance. He’ll never give up the information they desire. Not willingly.

You’re well aware of the weapons you lifted off his person, how they’re scattered just close enough to be tempting. If he scrambles for them… He seems too occupied with the two menacing men drawing his attention to think of that. At least, you can’t read any indication of a last desperate act of violence. Of course you hadn’t caught any indication he was no longer loyal to SHIELD, either. Just to be safe you shift your weight to block his path, the action requiring you to stand from your half-kneeling position. Sidestepping the small distance is a little more graceful than crab-walking.

When you look back at Stuart he’s still working his mouth and throat, almost as if uttering silent words, but his eyes are no longer shifting between Clint and Loki. No – now he has locked that half-crazed stare on you. You should have stayed right where you were, up close and forgotten as though in a blind-spot.

Clint growls out another request, but Stuart doesn’t appear to hear him. Clint takes another step forward. “Don’t look at her. Look at me. Where is Wallace?!”

Goosebumps appear and travel over your arms from the combination of Stuart’s stare and Clint’s tone. If you survive the adrenaline rush, and the day, you have one hell of a low waiting for you. You can’t help but feel that a few extra feet between Stuart and his weapons might be a good thing. Kicking them further from his reach doesn’t help alleviate the feeling, though.

The only thing it does? Brings a smile and a single word to Stuart’s lips. “Close.”

A distraction – any distraction – is needed to try to combat the feeling you get from the way Stuart is looking at you at the moment. And grinning. God that grin. Find Wallace. You conjure a mental map of the station and begin the process of trying to figure out a location nearby that would prove useful to Wallace. Give him a control panel, one still in decent condition, and he might be able to send out a signal. Can he bypass the lockdown? Yes, of course he can. He was the station’s tech. Fuck. You need to find Wallace, and find him quickly.

Clint directs the next comment at you but you can’t break Stuart’s stare. “What does that mean? Close.”

Mutely you shake your head. Aside from the control room where is there an adequate console?

“Close. Ha. Close.”

“Hiding somewhere nearby?” Clint stands equidistance from you and Stuart now, his attention going back to Stuart. “Look at me, not her. Where is he? What do you mean, close?”

Stuart continues ignoring Clint’s commands. You can’t focus for the muttering, and the shaky laugh. And to think just moments ago you’d been worried that Loki’s method would render Stuart mute.  

He isn’t projecting fear anymore. No longer concerned with the presence of Clint or Loki at all. All his attention is on you. How are you supposed to concentrate on your mental task – finding Wallace by figuring out where he could achieve his goal? You fight to maintain your focus. You try to look past him, through him.

Kitchen? No. Maybe one of the old – no those panels have been in ruins since before your arrival, all the better to be able to sleep undisturbed. Where else? The armory. Oh hell. Yes, that console is still intact. But Wallace is locked out – he commented as such over the radios before the shit completely hit the fan… if you believe everything you heard.

“Close. Close. So very close. _Almost_ had you.”

Your attention snaps back to Stuart, bringing the slouching man back into focus, the mental map vaporizing. Oh God. He isn’t talking about Wallace’s location. He’s talking about killing you. And if it’s him or you… Let him try again in his current state. You’ll arm yourself first, of course, and then – maybe toss him a knife, just for kicks. If he goes down – hurrah! No more talking about his desire to see you dead. If you go down? Well – Clint and Loki will just have to work together and finish what was started.

Your intent must be clear from the start of your crouch, or maybe it’s the look on your face – whatever the indicator is, Clint picks up on it and jumps forward, alarm tinging his features. “What are you doing?”

You force yourself to be still. What _are_ you doing? You just took action to stop Loki from torturing your unarmed ex-medic only to turn around and try to create a scenario to justify the use of lethal force.

A shudder runs through you. Loki was right all those months ago. You are too easily goaded into action. 

Clint turns to fix Loki with a hard glare, “This is _your_ doing. _Your_ manipulation.”

“No.” Your murmured protestation is unheard for the continued threats by Stuart, and Loki’s own words in response to Clint’s accusations. “No, this is all me…”

You can’t look at any of the other occupants of the control room at the moment. You settle for a worn spot on the tile floor. The level of adrenaline in your system now threatens to make you sick, or perhaps that’s queasiness associated with the horror of knowing just how far your morals have slipped in the few years you’ve been stuck at the substation. Worse yet? Maybe you’ve always been this way, hiding it behind the SHIELD badge and your orders. Maybe Stuart hadn’t been so wrong in thinking he could recruit you.

That’s the thought that pulls you back, pushes back against the nausea and sets your mind back on the task at hand. You’re a SHIELD agent. You **_are_** … and while you have one HYDRA agent currently testing your resolve, there is another within the walls of this substation that needs to be tracked down. It’s a task you certainly can’t do by simply standing here.

It takes several tries to be heard over the commotion. “I – I know where Wallace is, I think.” You glance at Stuart, the man still happily snarling out threats. He’s pegged you as the easiest mark and isn’t wavering in his attention. “But, we can’t just leave him here.”

The alternative being – what? Taking him with you as you hunt down Wallace? You like that idea even less. One of the three of you could always stay behind and watch him? Bind his hands and feet – and God his mouth, definitely his mouth. But is splitting up the best plan? If you’re wrong about Wallace being near the weapons depot and leave someone to be ambushed…

“Loki?” You look to him, hesitating in voicing the request that you know you’ll end up regretting at some point.

He arcs his eyebrows up, not bothering to hide the smile that pulls at the edges of his lips, “My methods suddenly appeal to you after such determined objections?”

You wince, the action itself serving to acknowledge the fact that it had certainly passed through your mind to allow Loki to resume. You glance over at Clint to find him still blocking your path to Stuart, baring witness to every flicker of emotion passing through you. He doesn’t seem to like what he’s seeing. He can dislike the events as much as he wants. These are the choices afforded you.

You’re deliberately trying to avoid looking at Stuart, afraid the bloodlust will overwhelm you again, so you settle on tuning back to Loki. “Locking him up in here isn’t – we need to take him with us.”

“Would you like me to silence him?”

He wants you to say it. God damn him he’s enjoying this. Fighting against the surge of desire to see Loki _punish_ Stuart for threatening you, you shake your head quickly. “No. No, just carry him once we handle…” You nod towards Clint, thereby Stuart as well. You’ll do it if Clint won’t – but he’ll have to stand aside to allow you access. Maybe you can find that syringe that Stuart had tried to attack you with, give him a small enough dose to knock him out rather than kill him. That’s a solution that will bring some quiet.

You don’t have to continue to consider options. Clint turns and using his elbow and forearm supplies a well-aimed hit, finally silencing the buzz of words that just wouldn’t stop after Stuart got his throat working again. You murmur thanks as Clint deftly produces and applies zip-cuffs to bind Stuart’s wrists. He pauses between applying the ties to Stuart’s wrists and shifting to bind the man’s ankles, nodding to you over his shoulder, “My genuine pleasure.”

As you watch Loki unceremoniously hoist Stuart over his shoulders a flash of knowledge coincides with the motion. He has performed that maneuver many times over. You think of the scar you saw and then felt on his chest, most likely one of many. How many times has he needed to carry someone from a battle? A comrade? His brother? Well, no. Not Thor. You shake that thought from your head. His sibling, unlike yours, is fully capable of handling himself.

“You said you know where he is?” Clint is keeping a wary eye on Loki while collecting the weapons you freed from Stuart.

You square your shoulders, doing your best to use the adrenaline in your system to quiet the part of you that is beginning to lose it. The day isn’t over yet. You can have a meltdown later. After returning to headquarters with Clint. And after handing over the two traitors, and explaining Loki’s presence… dealing with the ensuing chaos, and being debriefed…

 Later. All of that will be later.

“I think so, yes. The weapons depot. He was trying to get in earlier.” Earlier, before you realized that both the men you had been stationed with for two years were traitors. You risk turning your attention to the unconscious Stuart, but then Loki turns and your focus lifts to meet Loki’s gaze. He had been warning you against the two men when, “– heard Wallace trying to enter his access codes when we were still communicating over the radio. Said he forgot his codes. Couldn’t get in.”

“Well,” Clint nods, “It’s a place to start.”

Dear God, hopefully he’d been telling the truth. Loki’s magic, Clint’s bow and other assorted weapons, sans the one he handed off to you… If you meet with trouble before passing by one of your weapons caches then you have that at least – until then your own weapon will remain empty on your hip.

The plan is sound. You’ll lead the group through the hallways of the substation with Clint acting as rear guard, all the better to keep both you and Loki in his sights. Clint you’re sure of, even if you doubt yourself. He’s a hero. An _Avenger._ He’ll do what’s right, and keep everyone in check – you included. Loki? He’s here. He’s here and being helpful… right up until the moment he’s not. Though you told Clint you trust Loki, you can’t help but be on guard, waiting for the moment he decides he’s humored you long enough.

Several blind corners later you give your shoulders a frustrated shake. You need to be attuned to every little detail of your environment, not stuck in your head in a loop of self-doubt. You’ve certainly walked these hallways often enough – and damnit, the weapons depot houses the only other console in decent enough shape to be of any use… you think. Wallace _will_ be there. He **_will_**. Hell – he’ll probably have the same reaction to seeing Loki as Stuart had, and then you and Clint will be able to subdue him and –

Wallace peeks around the upcoming corner, causing a break in your thoughts. This is all wrong. You’re not close enough to the weapons depot, not yet. He ducks out of your sightline just as you begin to issue a warning and then you’re off and running, in pursuit while muttering curses. “Shit. Wallace. Stop!”

The pounding of footsteps echoing around you helps to assure you that Loki and Clint are keeping up. You don’t dare glance back to make sure of that fact. You can only hope that it isn’t the empty hallways playing tricks on you – that it isn’t the echo of your own footsteps you’re drawing strength from. They don’t know the layout of the base. This maze of underground hallways… If they lose you – but you can’t lose sight of Wallace. You simply _can’t_. One wrong turn on your part and he’ll be free to roam again. You’ll have no choice but to split up the group to cover more ground and then it’s the problem of who gets stuck with Stuart all over again.

You quirk your head as you run, cat chasing the mouse before you. Where is Wallace going? Another left and he’ll be trapped. Corridor 71 is impassable, the ceiling and walls about halfway through the hallway having crumbled long ago. How many times had you filed a report with those very words? Once a month for two goddamned years you had to type out the phrase: **_Corridor 71 out of commission, alternate routes utilized_.**

Wallace turns down that very corridor. Maybe the situation is causing him as much stress as it is you. At least the chase is over. Heart pounding, you slow your pace to round the corner, still skidding into the far wall as a result of your momentum. As you right yourself you lift your weapon to aim – at an empty hallway.

Where the hell had he gone? There was nowhere to fucking **_go!_** The hallway has always been a crumbling mess. Always. You saw him turn! You edge forward, uncertain. What the hell?!

“Where is he?”

“I don’t _know_.” You reply, annoyed at the question but thankful to hear Loki’s growl come from behind you. You glance back quickly, your eyes finding him, and then traveling on to Clint, panting but still able to issue you a series of short nonverbal commands with his hands. You nod in reply. Yes, damnit. You know you’re in the lead. Heaven forbid you check on the status of your group.

Edging forward more, you start into the beginnings of the rubble. Stress to the masonry is the most likely culprit – the expansion and contraction of the surrounding ground with the changing of the seasons being the reason why the corridor walls and ceiling were ultimately unable to continue to support the weight of the tundra that hid most of the base. Most of the smaller mess was swept away long ago – but the larger chunks of stone were either shoved to the sides of the corridor or left where they fell, too heavy to move without the aid of machinery.

A fine layer of dust has settled over most of it. Dust – or mold, maybe a combination of both. Corridor 71 was just a hallway – right? You had studied the blueprints. Right? You had studied the faded print, bent over a table and squinting. Noted that it was just a passageway that had fallen into disrepair. Right?? Or had it been something you had been told upon your arrival? Studying the blueprint certainly would have been something to pass the time. But – but had you simply taken their word for it? Wallace and Stuart. Station tech and cook-slash-doctor. You had no reason to doubt them, then.

Picking your way further into the mess, you continue to chastise yourself. You’re coming to the edge of the part of the hallway you know for certain you’ve explored from this end, the reason for your awareness as to the benign nature of the mold. You keep your eyes roaming, trying to take in everything – trying desperately to see how Wallace had managed this vanishing act. It’s only stepping to the far right of the hallway, nearly pressing yourself into the rubble residing there, that you can see the path carefully created in the fallen mess.

Someone has been busy.

“God damn it.” Back to cursing again. How productive.

“What?”

Careless, not fully inspecting the hallway as you should have. All those reports sent to headquarters, every last one of them a record your incompetence. You glance back to answer the question and the man that had asked, “There’s a fucking _path_ here, Clint. It should be completely blocked but looks like there’s a way through.”

Motion in your peripheral vision, and the combined reactions of both Loki – who drops Stuart off his shoulders like an unwanted article of clothing – and Clint is all the warning you get before Wallace slams into you. Sonofabitch reappears from nowhere, tackling you into the unforgiving stone of the hallway wall.

The issue of where he’d gone and where he had just appeared from is suddenly less of a concern. You fend off his blows, trying to land a few of your own. You’re fighting stunned, your responses slowed by the shock of Wallace flinging himself into you and the resulting impact of your head coming into contact with the rubble. And without Clint’s gun – lost somewhere in the rock and dirt. Not that the gun would do you any good. You don’t have a second to even aim – and firing under these conditions? Too great a risk. Also answers the question as to why no one has gotten off a shot to aid you, either.

As you try to regain the upper hand – if indeed you ever held it – you silently curse. Wallace clearly knows the terrain, something that benefits him as the pair of you ricochet off the hallway wall and into the fallen rubble. It’s mostly the tight space and Wallace’s continued close proximity that is keeping you upright. You’re trying to maintain you footing, trying to keep from allowing Wallace to land more blows while striking at him whenever you get the chance… but also doing your best to stay away from the narrow path that leads further in. Once in there it really will be just you versus Wallace – your experience against a man fighting dirty, and desperate besides.

Why the hell doesn’t Loki just use his magic and stun the shit out of the both of you? Stop the fight – whatever means necessary?! That should have been part of the game plan, if the three of you had even paused to think that far ahead. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The window of opportunity closes, Wallace forcing the scuffle into and down the tiny path. It might have been Loki’s curse, a language you certainly don’t recognize at any rate – that comes as the last thing you hear clearly before everything becomes muffled in the way only damp, close, earthen surroundings can manage. Then it’s only your labored breathing and the whump of the blows you land, and Wallace’s upon you, that you hear over the thrumming of your pulse.

Quick glances are all that you can manage to access your surroundings. The space is narrowing, and without being able to take your eyes off Wallace you can’t see where you’re headed in the diminishing light– or how much further you have to move within the confines of the hallway before the hand-carved space will end. The musk of heavy labor is strong here, mingling with the faint odor of the substation and the smell of no longer frozen earth.

Fuck. Where is Clint? Where is Loki?

When your back hits a solid surface you feel a mixture of relief and panic. No more room. You’ll have to work with what you’ve got, and what you’ve got is a dimply lit space without a lot of room for maneuvering. Oh, and no way out except through a man you once thought to be as mild as they come. Sure, prickly if provoked regarding his precious tech, but capable of trying to beat the shit out of someone? If you had breath for banter, now would be the time for a great one liner, something to remind Wallace that the person he is attacking is a friend. Was a friend. Lived at this station with him for two damn years. Still hard to process, Wallace and Stuart being HYDRA. That HYDRA is back – not a defunct agency opposed to SHIELD’s ideals but one very much capable of acting, and worthy of being feared.

Wallace lunges again, intent on… pinning you against the wall of rubble? Wanting to see the panic in your eyes up close in these last moments as he strangles you? His hands don’t go to your neck as you expect, but past you, and the solid surface behind you starts to shift. It’s a wonder the rubble has held this long without all the movement triggering an avalanche. If more of the dirt and stone of the mountain fills the hallway the both of you are fucked. You’ll inhale the dirt – suffocate on it, or simply be crushed by it – long before Loki and Clint will be able to manage to dig their way to you. 

As you tumble backwards you pull your arms up with the intention of protecting your head. No rumble or groan indicating a cave in, no shower of dirt comes after you hit the ground. It isn’t necessary to shield yourself from falling rock – or Wallace’s blows. Belatedly, you realize the fight has stalled. You blink as you lower your arms, laying there on your back. Corridor 71 _wasn’t_ just a hallway. Something had been blocked by the cave-in, a door hidden by the fallen rubble. A room, a place, that didn’t show up on any of your blueprints of the substation. Had it been Stuart and Wallace that had hidden that detail from you? Or had headquarters deliberately left something out?

Apparently on this side of the cave-in the power is spotty, the emergency lights interspersed in the ceiling are all that illuminate the space. It’s in that flickering lighting that you see Wallace turn from the door, away from the panel he has been focused while you were taking in your surroundings. Nothing to use. Nothing to use – just an empty room. There’s muted banging, but Wallace doesn’t seem worried, which worries you all the more. Maybe an avalanche wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.

You focus for a moment on the banging – sounds you imagine to be fist, boot, and body coming into contact with the surface blocking their path. Loki and Clint trying to get to you. Working _together_ to achieve a common goal.

You’re slow to your feet, slower than you’d like, but Wallace is more attentive to the newness of his surroundings than to you. It’s a moment you could take advantage of, if your body and brain would just cooperate and seize the opportunity.

He’s puffing, trying to catch his breath as he looks around with a mixture of curiosity and perhaps a little disappointment. “Always wondered what was on the other side of that door.”

His muttered comment pulls a question from you, “Where the hell are we?”

“So they didn’t tell you either. That’s... Huh. But that’s SHIELD for you, I guess.”

Try to stay ready. You don’t know when he’ll lunge at you again. At least you have room to scramble and fight back. “I get being frustrated with the assignment, Wallace. I do. But is it worth all this?”

“Frustrated?!” He tilts his head, angrily swinging his arm to motion towards the sealed door at his back. “You think that craphole is worth protecting? That _that’s_ the reason they still have people stationed out here?”

Honestly? In the short term it probably just cost less to leave the place to crumble and consume itself, with minimal staff to run it, rather than send out the teams to raze it. But the longer you can keep Wallace sidetracked on this subject the greater your chances are that the others will figure a way through the door without you having to fall back on fighting him again. And with nothing immediately at hand to use as a weapon you have little choice. Should have grabbed a rock from the passageway while they were plentiful. Not that there had been time. It had all happened so fast – or seemed to, from your viewpoint.

Another question: Why the hell isn’t Loki using his magic to gain access like he did to get into the control room? It wasn’t as simple as just a flick of his wrist, not matter what he claimed, but however he’d done it, he’d managed it. Mmm, but he had played that scenario to his advantage. Is that the cause for this delay as well? Waiting for the most opportune moment? Always calculating the odds to work things to his favor. Damn him! You battle back against your irritation. Keep Wallace occupied. That’s your task for the time being.

“Maybe someone out there can’t stand the thought of destroying it.” You wipe the back of your hand across your opposing cheek, pausing to look at the red mixed in with the grime. That wound will make itself known after the surge of adrenaline lessens. “Sentiment…” You shrug, dropping your hand to your side. “Or… maybe being stationed here really is just a punishment, Wallace. I know what I did to deserve being stuck here. What did you do?”

His face contorts into a scowl, “God I hate people who still drink the Kool-Aid without question.”

That’s when the screaming starts. Bloodcurdling screams that are unmistakable, even muffled as they are through the stone and mortar walls of the compound. It’s Stuart bellowing. No longer incapacitated. No discarded and forgotten in the floor of Corridor 71.

Both you and Wallace stand considering the door and the source of the noise beyond. You’re almost glad to be on this side of the door. Almost. Problem is you can think of plenty of things they might be doing to him to cause such screams.

Evidently, so can Wallace. Still half turned towards the door, he looks at you sideways. For a moment he looks a little sick, then the expression disappears. “Waste of time. He doesn’t know how to open it.”

That much you’ve gathered. Curses. Pleas. Things incoherent – and a repeating that phrase that he had uttered so sincerely in the control room. He didn’t know. He didn’t know. Now that the door was sealed shut _he – didn’t – know_.

“I wasn’t sure, either. Too afraid of getting locked in since they said it only worked once.”

Oh that’s great. Just great. Locked in with Wallace. At least when you had locked yourself into the control room you’d known the codes to get yourself _out_ again. Another thing to worry about: he’d said **_they’d said_** _it would only work once…_ How long has HYDRA had this base in their sights? You don’t like the fact that HYDRA seems to know more about the base than you do. “Not afraid they’ll be pissed that you opened it?”

Wallace glares at you, “You forced me to. You and your _friend_ out there.”

Friend. He doesn’t know who stands on the other side of that door. You might be able to work that to your advantage... And yippee – Wallace’s focus is off the room and back on you again. Your distraction techniques clearly need work. You do your best to suppress a shudder. The way Wallace is looking at you leads you to believe one thing: this musty room might just be the last thing one of you will ever see.

Keep him talking. Keep him talking. The thrumming of impact of body to the door has stopped, but the screaming hasn’t. Ignore the screams, both internal and external. “What’s so important about this substation that HYDRA would devote two agents? What’s so important about this room, Wallace?”

He looks at you like you’ve sprouted another arm. It’s a look he has given you many times over, usually when you’ve asked a question about his precious tech. “You mean why would SHIELD bother to hide it?” Again he lifts his eyes from you to reexamine the surrounding space. Another opportunity you can’t quite seize. “You’re right though. There’s got to be more to it than this. I always assumed a room stuffed with records.”

“Records?”

Wallace huffs, “Yea. Records. Those fucking reports we all file every month? Think about that. Years’ worth of those after they pulled him from the ice. Everything in triplicate. How they loooove their paperwork. Can’t tell me they took it all with them when they left.” He snorts, his calm muttering putting him at odds with the sounds still coming from the other side of the door. “Nobody loves paperwork _that_ much.”

You almost pity him. Poor Wallace. Out here in the sub-arctic been spoon fed lies by HYDRA until he was willing to turn his back on SHIELD. “Wallace. This – it’s just another room…”

A room, just like so many others in this wreck of a place. Empty. Useless. Hell – the pair of you are probably standing in a glorified storage room right now. A storage room – with a failsafe that seals the door.

“Sure.” He nods, watching and gauging your reactions. “And this was just a place they housed the meatsicle for a few months until they were ready to move him to New York.”

Without meaning to, you laugh. “So you’re here looking for – HYDRA wants mounds of paperwork documenting the endless days spent staring at a block of ice?”

“They want the research that was abandoned when _they_ hit a dead end. The shit that was too important to destroy so it was left here behind a deliberate cave-in. The markings _the tesseract_ left that they couldn’t unscramble. Kept it all guarded, even if they couldn’t figure out how to interpret it. Got to still be here.”

The tesseract. Is that why Loki is here? The damned tesseract – the very thing that had brought him to Earth last time. That, and the desire for power, the desire to rule. Stupid to think that it was something solely related to you – some fascination with you. Your life will pass in a blink in comparison to his. Hell – maybe there will be something useful in one of the rooms beyond to throw in his face if he and Clint ever make it through that door. If there _are_ any rooms beyond. Rooms that SHIELD had tried to keep secret…

Wallace nods as you reach out, sidestepping until your hand comes into contact with the wall. It’s a show of compliance while you try to think your way out of this mess. Hard to think while your brain is slightly scrambled. Harder still while Wallace continues to make conversation, but you understand the reason for it. Anything to drown out the noises from Corridor 71. “Y’know, Stu told me you had it rough, too. Guess he saw what I didn’t. Time spent here is always enough…”

The comment drives deeper into you than anything he’s said yet. You close your eyes, reopening them to note the smears trailing along behind here you’re dragging your hand over the smooth surface. Hopefully it’s all just small scratches that continue to seep.

What are you even looking for? The panels look like solid slabs. You keep dragging your fingers along the wall, moving slowly. What you really want to do is turn around and shout at Wallace – vent all this frustration and guilt. You want to tell him _he’s wrong_. That two years of the same thing day after day after day wasn’t enough to turn you against SHIELD. That you aren’t like him… but what point would it serve? Other than maybe starting another fight. You don’t have that in you, not yet.

“Here!” Wallace’s exclamation makes you jump. He has his left hand anchored to the wall, the right one shifting in a grid-like search pattern. “The seam. I can feel – look. See? No dust right there in the floor at that seam where there should be a layer of it.”

You approach while he’s occupied. Can you hit him hard enough right now to knock him into the wall and knock him out? The click and hiss, followed by the panel sliding away from his left hand brings a halt to your plans. The hallway that is revealed is illuminated by the same flickering emergency lights. This part of the substation is evidently connected to a different power source than the rest of the base.

“What. The. Hell.” You whisper.

“Yea.” Wallace turns to grace you with a smirk before motioning towards the hallway. “After you.”

You’d rather not have him walking behind you where you can’t keep an eye on him, but then he probably feels the same way. In front of him you’re the first to forge a path through the layer of dust coating the floors, the first to stumble into whatever other precautions SHIELD might have taken against unwanted visitors – fail-safes on unmarked doors aside.

Wondering how Loki and Clint are faring starts to fade in favor of the adventure before you. The desire to know what lies beyond grows with every step that takes you further into the forgotten – no _not_ forgotten – _hidden_ portion of the substation. They’ll catch up, you reason, and oh won’t it be wondrous to see the look on Loki’s face when you have the research in your hands. _This?_ – you’ll scoff – _Was this what you were looking for?_

So focused on your imaginary confrontation, you only half see the details of the room as you come to the end of the hallway. Bits of ceiling tiles are littering the floor, joining in with the layer of dust that coats everything. You slow your pace, remembering that you’re supposed to be trying to find something to use against Wallace. The action causes him to bump into you and sends you stumbling forward. You reach out, managing to steady yourself on the corner where the hallway ends and the large room begins. There’s another bloody smear for the boys to follow, even if you didn’t leave it intentionally.

“Watch it.” Wallace grabs you by the shoulder and shoves you away from the wall, reestablishing a few foot distance between the pair of you. He is apparently less keen on fighting now that he’s this much closer to finding the research. You mark that down as a good thing.

Beneath the layer of grime on the tile floors you can see where furniture used to reside – strange boxy shapes that are punctuated by holes drilled down into the floor. What might have sat there that needed to be anchored? Not only was anchored but also was worthy of being removed? Particularly when they left desks, filing cabinets… but took the chairs. You frown, looking from cabinet to cabinet. Might one hold something useful to you? A letter opener? A gun? Will Wallace let you go and search them – perhaps in the name of finding the research he and HYDRA so desperately seek?

“So?” You ask him, “Where do we start?”

With no clear sign pointing to any one spot, nothing that says – **hey look here for research we want kept secret –** it is a valid question. Wallace almost smiles and then points to the closest of the desks. “There. We’ll start with the desks and go through the room clockwise.”

“And if we get interrupted?” You try to keep the question light, sneaking a glance at him as you make your way to the desk. The desktop is clear. If it weren’t for the obvious gaps where certain items are missing from the room, it almost looks like they simply tidied up for the night, turned off the lights, and never looked back.

Wallace’s reply comes sighed as you pull open the top rightmost drawer. “Don’t make it complicated.”

“Not trying to make it complicated. I’m just saying. Interruptions happen.”

You stare down at the drawer, quickly inventorying its contents. Loose sheets of blank paper, scattered by the force you used to yank the drawer open – hey it wasn’t rusted shut as you figured it might have been. There is a pencil. You might be able to work with a pencil. Keeping an eye on Wallace, you start to reach out to snag said object but pause when he stops rifling through his own drawer and turns towards you.

“You _are_. Just like you made every inspection of the base complicated when fuckall changed from the last time. Who the hell checks every hub every time?” He blinks, looking at you up close without the rush of adrenaline and blurry movements of a fight to interfere with observation. “Fuck. Hang on. Last thing I need is for you to bleed all over the research when we find it.”

He’s one to talk. Wallace is leaving his own trail of fingerprints and blood smears over everything he touches. He bends, opening and slamming the next few drawers in sequence until he finds what he is looking for – a cotton hand towel, which he proceeds to toss at you. The next thing out of the drawer is hardly surprising, and explains the presence of the towel: a bottle of scotch.

You might just thank the owner of that desk once you’re back in the world, presuming they’re still alive. You blot blindly at your neck, cheek, and temple, the towel gaining dark smudges with each point of contact. Head wounds are bad for bleeding but this… You grimace at the towel and then at Wallace. “Sink?”

He’s wary – but cleaning up had been his idea. Reluctantly he abandons his search of the desk to glance around the room. Upon seeing the sink in the corner, he gives a jerk of his head to indicate it and walks with you over to it. A test of both of the handles provides no results. No tale tell groan of frozen pipes trying to cooperate, but also, no water. “Disconnected?” He ventures with a shrug. “Guess that leaves the scotch.”

Oh. That won’t feel nice.

Its a few quick steps over to the desks again where the bottle of scotch sits, waiting. Wallace isn’t so confident in your cooperation to hand over the heavy bottle. Smart man. While he busies himself with opening the bottle – and taking a swig – you take the opportunity to slip your hand back into the drawer you’d been inspecting and retrieve the pencil, hiding your treasure beneath the towel before he notices. He lets some of the amber fluid soak into the towel before moving on to the next desk, setting about the task of searching those drawers while you swipe at your hairline and down your neck. You hiss through gritted teeth as you press the alcohol soaked cloth against your skin and another wound makes itself known to you. Showering once the day is over is going to be a beast.

Tired of this useless endeavor you hold the towel aside, turning to Wallace and tilting your head side to side, an action that you immediately regret from the shooting pains it sends down your spine. “Ow. Damn. Ok. This better?”

He looks up and snorts, rubbing his hands over the lower portion of his shirt as he tries to fight against the dust sticking to the oils on his palms. “No. You’re just smearing it.”

He picks up the bottle again, as through preparing to come over and rewet your towel. This might be your moment. You shift the towel in your hands, trying to get a better grip on the pencil hidden beneath. How best to do this? Thumb over the eraser? Depends on where you’re aiming. If you go for his thigh, or arm, or shoulder, and hit bone? Dislocating your thumb is not going to do any good. He offers you both hands: one to help aid in the wetting of the towel, the other gripping the heavy glass bottle of scotch.

Two targets. Choices, choices. Gripping the pencil firmly you shift your treasure out from under the towel, swinging your arm down quickly while aiming for his outstretched hand. You hit your mark, his proffered palm, almost dead center. Wallace screams and releases his hold on the bottle of scotch – the glass bottle ricocheting down his body to hit his ankle before rolling to the floor, amber fluid going everywhere. He clutches his wounded hand – pencil sticking out both sides – towards his body, hunching forward involuntarily.

You only have a second or two to admire your handiwork before he recovers enough to try to backhand you, but you duck his swing. Stooping to avoid him enables you to scoop up the dropped scotch bottle, most of the contents now sloshed over the floor at your feet. Double handing the neck of the bottle, you swing the heavy thing up as you stand, hitting him just below his chin. His lower jaw snaps up with a satisfying clack of teeth on teeth.

The force of your swing sends Wallace stumbling into the desk you had been rummaging through. He hits the desk and his weight lands on top of it. His momentum carries his feet into the air, causing him to flip. He kicks out before fully flipping over the desk, the timing just right to connect with your head. Another jarring blow to your already rattled brain. With no time to avoid it you’re seeing stars, and just _know_ he’s broken your nose. You release the bottle, letting it fall and roll across the floor, presumably to stop somewhere towards the outskirts of the room.

Wallace’s words sound odd the next time he speaks, hopefully more from the impact of bottle to his jaw than his boot to your head. “You... You bitch! You’re… augh. You’re dead. I swear to… Freezing to death is… too good for you!”

Blinking away tears, you try to focus on the source of the threats. Wallace is halfway to his feet, using the desk to steady himself. Blood is oozing from the hole in his hand. The pencil? Missing.

You don’t even consider staying put to face the man you just whacked with a bottle of alcohol. Hopefully Loki and Clint have had some sort of luck getting that fucking door open again. You start running back towards Corridor 71. Every jarring step makes your face throb, but there’s no way you’re waiting to hear what he thinks is a fitting end. It’s always the quiet ones that break and become terrifying.

There is someone standing in the hallway, blocking your dash towards freedom. You come to a skidding halt, slipping on the dust and debris covered floor. Stuart? You’re so used to you, Wallace, and Stuart being the only ones in the substation that your brain can’t immediately recognize that the man standing there simply isn’t of the right proportions.

It’s Loki. Loki in his Jotun form, his face contorted in anger.

“Loki! Where’s – where’s Clint?” Your question comes out shaky.

Loki clenches his jaw as he forces his glare away from Wallace, only just able to keep from baring his teeth at you as well. His eyes dart from your forehead, to your bloody nose, down to the towel you still have clenched in your hand, then back up to your face again before he starts walking towards Wallace. It’s a wordless answer but apparently all the answer you’ll be getting.

Right. The towel. You swipe at the blood dripping over your upper lip.

“Loki? But he’s…” Wallace gapes at the angry god that is approaching him. A more sensible person would run, or at least back away. Wallace stays braced against the desk, stunned into being motionless upon seeing the supposedly dead brother of Thor walking towards him.

Fuck. Do you go see what’s keeping Clint or do you stay and put a stop to whatever Loki has planned for Wallace? Loki. Definitely stick with Loki. The murderous look in his eyes, and what he tried to do to Stuart before? Clint is a big boy. He’s on his own. You need Wallace _alive_ to tell you more about the tesseract research.

You try again to attract Loki’s attention. “Is Clint with Stuart? Are they ok?”

Alright. Stupid question when one considers the earlier screams. It’s a question that doesn’t even make Loki flinch.

Gingerly pressing your fingertips to your nose to test the damage, you unroot yourself, crossing the short distance you’d just covered in trying to flee. “I heard the screams.” You wipe your bloody fingers on the towel, grimacing, “I think we all heard the screams… Was it you making him scream like that? Loki? Loki, _stop_. Talk to me.”

He warned you before about ordering him around, not that you’re letting that stop you. Not that your words are having any effect.

Wallace just watches him approach. You know how jarring it is to watch a supposedly dead god walk towards you, but _damnit Wallace, **move**_! _Flee from the god with murderous intent!_  He doesn’t. Doesn’t do a thing to block Loki, either, as the god reaches out and presses his hands to either side of Wallace’s head. Loki’s blue and tattooed skin shows in bright contrast to Wallace’s paleness, though the visual is lessened by Wallace’s bloodied face. You watch the reenactment of what had happened with Stuart, knowing intimately what Wallace is feeling as he registers something through the shock, his mouth moving to open wide in a silent scream.

Before the wails start you spit out what words you can. “Loki, stop! He has answers. Answers we need. **_I_** need.” Loki flexes his fingers making it clear he has no intention of letting go. You take another swipe at the blood you can feel dripping from your nose and move closer.

Wallace’s body is starting to twitch and jump, his muscles spasming. Instead of screaming he’s emitting some sort of guttural wheeze. Whatever Loki is doing to him is something new, different than what you had witnessed him do to Stuart. You shudder and focus on Loki. What might get through to him? What might make him react – at least to release Wallace? He had been gentle with you before. Ok, maybe not gentle… but careful. Made sure you were only subjected to the lightest of grazes while his forearm had been blue. Maybe that’s something you can use. Of course, now it’s his entire damned body that is blue.

“I’ll – I’ll touch you, again. Don’t think that I won’t.”

“Don’t think that I’ll stop you.”

He’s challenging you. He doesn’t think you’ll try. Well, at least he replied. Your hands have already started to ache in memory of what happened before. Or maybe that’s just the result of the scuffle with Wallace.

What will happen if Loki doesn’t throw you off after you make contact with his skin? Will you be stuck to him, unable to pry yourself off like a kid that touched their tongue to a frozen bit of metal on a dare? That’ll be productive. You take another step forward, making sure you’re visible in his peripheral vision before you start wrapping the bloodied towel into a makeshift mitten to cover your right hand.

You’ll do it, damnit. You’ll test your theory – see if you can manage to touch him while he is in Jotun form if there is a layer of fabric between your skin and his. You pause to swipe the back of your left hand over your eyebrow and discover another tender spot – oh joy. “You’re doing more harm than good right now, you know that?”

“Am I?”

“Yes! Now let him _go._ ”

“No.”

If anything, he seems to do the opposite. If he squeezes too hard… How are you going to explain _that_ to Clint? To your superiors? Head crushed but body intact? Strategic cave-in? But then SHIELD command apparently knows all about strategic cave-ins.

You’re gaining ground. Loki has turned his head, if only slightly. You catch the flick of his eyes. He’s watching you, gauging your reactions. He’s curious, still trying to study you. More importantly he’s _listening._

You let the bloody cotton fabric fall loose in your grip again. All your fiddling and tucking comes undone in a matter of seconds. You’ve no hope of pulling him off Wallace. Against his superhuman strength? It’s a pointless endeavor. He knows it, and knows you know it. Damn him. You need those answers, answers held in the mind of the man twitching within Loki’s grip. You need to be able to take Wallace and Stuart back to headquarters to face the consequences of their actions. Without having the strength to pull him off Wallace, how? How can you make those things happen?

Words? It’s worth a shot.

“I know why you’re here.” You take a shallow breath, swallowing down the surge of uncertainty and fear threatening to seal your throat and steal your voice. “Why you’re really here.”

Loki turns his head a little more and narrows his eyes at you, his face going flinty. “What do you think you know?”

Your brain is flashing a warning sign. _Danger. Danger. This is a dangerous game to be playing._ Unfortunately it’s a game you have no choice but to play. Can you manipulate a manipulator who has more experience in the trade than you ever will? Can you take advantage of the feelings you imagine you see mirrored back when you look into his eyes?

You flick your fingers to indicate Wallace, not risking looking away and breaking eye contact. “He told me about the research they were doing. That’s what you’re after. Same thing he was. Same thing HYDRA is after.”

The more you speak the more confident you grow, mainly because of the reaction it is getting from Loki. Have you actually struck a nerve? His grip has lessened on his captive and he has turned to fully face you, dragging Wallace forward slightly with the motion, your ex-tech a compliant ragdoll in his hands.

You do your best to square your shoulders and stand tall despite your battered condition. “You’re just here for the stalled research – the clues left behind by the tesseract. I know that this isn’t some valiant attempt at saving me from _wolves._ You’re here because you want what you’ve always wanted. Power.”

If only you had some of the research – something you could wave in his face. That just might do the trick. Right now you only have these assumptions. Things that now have Loki smiling at you in return. It’s a wide, teeth baring grin. Oh that’s not better than his previous expression. Not better at all.

“You know all that, do you?

When you nod, he laughs. That’s it. That’s the dynamic in a nutshell. You’re just entertainment – have been from the very fucking start. You should have stayed at your post all those years ago! It’s anger now that keeps your mouth running. “Well – you’ve taken out two of the three currently present that know about the research being here. Done God knows what to Stuart, and you’re giving Wallace one hell of a case of brain freeze. But if you want that power, if you want that fucking research you’d better be prepared to come after me when you’re done with him.”

That does it. Loki releases his grip on Wallace’s head, only giving the man a half glance when he crumples to the floor, his knees not supporting his weight. Wallace’s eyes don’t shift to track the Jotun. Actually, he isn’t blinking at all... He doesn’t appear to even see this hidden room of the substation anymore. The brain freeze comment was just a stab in the dark but might be close to accurate. What has Loki done to your ex-tech?

Your concern for the HYDRA agent, for the tech that you’ve survived two years alongside, is fleeting. Once again you’ve got Loki’s full attention.

“Still standing against me, Agent?”

You try to keep any hint of fear from tinging your angry glare. “Where else would I be standing?”

“Consider,” he dips his head, eyes never leaving yours, and takes a step towards you, “that you don’t know as much as you think. Consider a rightful king imprisoned. Locked away for crimes that in the past those casting judgement carried out tenfold. Promised only the walls of his cell for the rest of his days. And though he _hates_ – plots and plans – still, towards some he finds love. A sentiment rewarded by silence from all but one.” 

The vibrant blue of his skin is starting to lessen. Is it tied to his emotions? Perhaps an automatic response to violence? He’d turned blue after you shot him with the ICERs, and when you hadn’t run screaming shifted his skin tone back again. Is he trying again to get a reaction from you? Is he now trying to lull you into a false sense of security by going back to appearing human once more?

“But then, opportunity presents in the desperate act of a fool pretending to have grown wise. A chance to reclaim a stolen throne from a false father.”

You know this story. Everyone knows this story. Thor had gone to his brother for help – and Loki _had_ helped him. Died helping him. News that had rocked SHIELD when Thor had relayed the facts. Loki had died in his arms. Died a _hero_ , but then most tried to ignore or gloss over that little detail in favor of the larger message: the trickster was dead. But – Loki’s death had been exactly that, a trick… a playact to regain the throne of Asgard?

Everyone doesn’t know the story as well as they think.

And Thor – what will he think, what will he say when he learns the truth? What of his father? Their father? What has Loki done?

He’s a few steps away from you, skin till lightly tinged blue but not nearly as vibrant as before. Tunic ripped and coated in dust, his scarf lost somewhere within the substation, he still he holds himself with an air of superiority. Gods, infinitely more resilient than humans.

His voice has lost the angry edge, but is still some distance from gentle. “Consider a curiosity grown from maintaining the act of a father concerned with the wellbeing of his favorite son. A watchful eye that from a distance can better see the movements of the board. The shuffling of pieces in a hidden war. Whispers. Rumors. Leads easy enough to follow when the subjects are unaware of an observer.”

He’s claiming to have been keeping an eye on Thor. Spying on the Avengers is a little more believable than any sort of familial concern. But he claims some small dose of love for his brother, still. Again – you might be better inclined to believe him if he hadn’t left his brother to grieve over his death.

Though you want to stand tall, match his confidence, you can’t help but take a step back, a step away from him and back towards the hallway as he continues to approach. It’s not quite running, not quite enough to cause the predator in him to pounce, just a careful shifting of your weight. “So instead of going to Thor – warning him of the hidden moves you’ve noticed well enough in advance to do something – you show up here. Here on a day when all hell breaks loose. When everyone will be occupied, scrambling to survive and fight back against HYDRA and you can see just how many of those whispers and rumors regarding the tesseract are true.” You’re saying these things half hoping he’ll contradict your statements, though you know reality will be that he will confirm them. Still, you hope.

“Yes.”

His affirmation sucks the air out of you. Damnit. Being right sucks.

He gives an imperceptible nod. “Here. The substation where the research was hinted to be housed. Research easily claimed. Particularly during a diversion. Except for one complication.” You stare at him, at those bright eyes made ever more luminous from his dark hair and pale skin. He is back to studying you from head to toe, able to almost appear detached until his eyes find yours again. He exhales, one word spoken under his breath. “Sentiment.”

Loki’s long stride brings him closer faster than you can cautiously backpedal. A complication. Singular. He’s – he’s referring to you. The thought brings an end to your slow retreat. Your meager attempts at manipulation have failed. He’s read your emotions easily enough and has adopted your tactic – wielding it far better than you could have. And fuck it all, you’re unable to combat the emotions elicited in response.

He’s well within your personal space when he pauses, perhaps as of yet still undecided if he’s going to allow his sentiment to keep him from torturing you. Your mouth has popped open, dropping into a little O as you try to figure out which of the thoughts racing around your brain you want to force out in reply.

You hold your hands up in front of you in loose fists, still having the towel clutched in your right hand. His proximity nearly forces your hands into contact with the soft fabric of his tunic but you keep your hands just shy of touching him, even trembling as they are. Indignation wins out. “Wait. Wait. You’re saying my being here has fucked up _your_ plans? I wouldn’t _be_ here if it weren’t for you! I’d be – I’d be home! With family and friends still talking to me. Not out in this goddamned wasteland beat to shit and…”

“Surviving. Battered, but surviving.” He reaches up and brushes his hand over yours, plucking the towel from your clenched fist before briefly examining your hand for injuries. Right hand, then left; uncurling your fingers with gentle force, testing your joints and bones. “I told you from the very start I thought you should be elsewhere.”

Yes. Yes he had. Even knowing he’s probably playing you masterfully, you’re powerless to act the way you should. You should rip your hands out of his grasp and argue with him further but instead find yourself enthralled by the gracefulness of his motions. With these same hands only moment prior, he had been attempting to crush a man’s skull and done something to turn said man into a zonked out ragdoll – and yet now is using them to apply such tender attentions.

Sentiment. It’s wreaking all sorts of havoc on plans, and should-dos, and wants today.

If this is the moment of calm, some sort of peace that he’s offering before digging the problematic pebble from his boot and continuing on with his plans for pursuing the tesseract research, it’s not a half bad way to go. Both hands inspected, he releases them, allowing you to do with them what you will as he lifts his gaze to the wounds on your face. It’s when he lifts his hands that you note his fingers are once more tinged a brilliant blue and you twitch in anticipation of what comes next. You don’t close your eyes. You won’t give him that. He’ll have to watch as your pupils dilate after he kills you… if he just kills you and doesn’t choose to do worse.

The chilled brush of fingertip to cheekbone brings a rushed inhalation of breath. Darkness does not follow, or false visions, or unbearable pain – just the feeling of him lightly prodding, inspecting the damage.

Loki keeps his focus broad, trying to see the severity of your injuries beneath the blood and grime. “I can control it,” he explains in response to your stunned silence, “to wound, or…” He lifts his fingers from where he’d traced along the ridge of bone just under your eye socket, stopping just short of touching your nose. “That’s broken. We’ll see to that last.” Still avoiding your gaze, he focuses instead on something he sees at your hairline, tilting your head for a better vantage point.

You watch him breathing – a steady inhalation and exhalation of breath punctuated by light frowns that pull at the corners of his mouth.  Yes, you look like shit. And yes, having him prodding at the tender spots, even with the soothing attentions of his chilled fingers, hurts.

His eyes remain averted, his attention now having drifted down to the spot just above your temple where your head had bounced off the floor, or a wall. Off a hard surface at any rate. How long has he gone without speaking? Maybe a minute? It means a minute of absorbing every nuance of expression to escape from beneath the mask he continues to try to wear. At least a minute of watching the shifting of his shoulders, the way the fabric of his tunic pulls and puckers with every movement – of wanting to say something but not knowing what, or where to start.

“Do you still stand against me?” The question comes with careful application of the towel to a wound.

You take a breath and admit a truth. “I don’t know where else to stand.”

Loki abandons his examination, finally meeting your gaze once more. “Don’t you?”

Oh fuck, you’re so screwed. Why had you thought it wise to channel your desire in this way? You push back against the compulsion to press yourself into his arms, resisting the urge to tell him he’s won, that he’s successfully ensnared you.

Damnit. SHIELD had been right to send you away – send you out here to guard… whatever the hell you’ve been guarding. Not just a shell of a substation, that’s clear now. But, fuck, just because you’re putty in his hands doesn’t mean you’re no longer an agent. You lick your lips, ignoring the tang of blood you taste as result of the action and offer up a question, spoken softly, “What are you planning to do with the power you acquire, if the research leads you to it?”

His parted lips close, pressing into a thin line. He doesn’t look away, but he doesn’t offer up an answer. His silence speaks volumes.

“I can’t stand with you if it means turning my back on SHIELD, Loki. On my world… I can’t stand with you and watch everything I know –”

He is eerily calm when he speaks, cutting you off. You would have mistaken him for bored if you were looking anywhere other than in his eyes and standing so close that you are privy to the spark of passion hidden within them. “This regime? The next? They all burn eventually, Agent.”

You reach out, pressing your fingertips into the fabric of his tunic before allowing your hand to fully settle, palm resting against his chest. Yes, he has a point – regimes do fall – but knowing that fact versus witnessing it and doing nothing when you could act…

"You know a thing or two about watching worlds burn, don't you Loki? Being the one that set them ablaze and all." Clint! It’s Loki that steps away, pulling himself away from your touch. You blink, half turning back to face the hallway and finding Clint nearly to the threshold of the room. He’s walking stiffly and is far dirtier than he was when you last saw him. He looks you over, eyebrows rising, "You ok?"

It takes you a second to find words, nodding as you reply. "You look like shit too, thanks." You look past him at the empty hallway, not exactly sure you want to ask the question – knowing you have to ask it all the same. “Um, where’s Stuart?”

Clint makes a face, glaring at Loki for a second before looking back at you to reply, “Part of what took so long. Someone made Stuart break his bonds, earlier. Had to find a way to secure him again. And shut him up again. _After_ I dug us out of the rubble.”

It’s no wonder Loki has been taking his sweet time down here with Wallace, and with you. He knew Clint would be occupied for a little while – gave himself plenty of time to play. You frown, doing your best to bury the stab of guilt you feel over the fact that you’ve been down here fucking _flirting_ while Clint was digging himself out from under earth and stone. “Are you ok?”

“Limping for sympathy.” Clint nods, flashing you an almost reassuring smile. Acting like it hurts less than it actually does, a tactic you’re familiar with. He keeps in motion, examining the room with a practiced sweep of his eyes, though his path towards Wallace never wavers. He waves his hand towards your fallen ex-tech. “Not even gonna ask what happened to him. We need to get moving. Get back to HQ. Regroup.”

And pass along Loki’s warning, if it isn’t already too late.

Hard to tell from Clint’s inspection of the place if he’s already familiar with its existence or not. He has a higher clearance level… Maybe he knew about it. Might that have been the reason he kept in contact? Maintaining a connection on the off chance you stumbled upon something you shouldn’t? You don’t immediately move to meet Clint next to Wallace, instead watching as he starts to help the fallen man to his feet. “Clint? You don’t appear surprised that this was here…” Oh doubt. It’s something you’re excelling at lately.

He responds while ducking under one of Wallace’s arms. “I maintain a healthy level of curiosity. Not much surprises me about SHIELD, anymore.” Wallace sags in his grasp. “A little help here?”

You’re still hesitant to get close to Wallace. His zoned out nature doesn’t cancel out the fact that he’d very recently been making promises regarding killing you. Reluctantly you take up your respective position under Wallace’s other arm, muttering as you do so. “He tried to kill me with a pencil.”

Clint misses your comment at first, just happy that you’re helping him. “Look, they compartmentalize. Need to know. Hell of a thing to hear when you’ve been... Wait – a pencil?”

“Stabbed him with it first.” You beam, proud at your resourcefulness and then remembering that it’s _that_ arm that is slung over your shoulder. Should’ve wrapped Wallace’s bloody hand. But then – this uniform is probably a total loss at this point, even with Loki trying to help you clean off the blood.

Loki, who is curiously quiet. You try to look past Wallace’s arm that is limply draped over your shoulders to find the unpredictable god. The lingering coolness of his touch is fading. Loki has moved to the wall on the far side of the entrance to the room, just beyond the hallway.

“Loki?”

His attention is on the wall, not you, or Clint, or the room at his back. At your utterance of his name he turns to look at you over his shoulder. He is still plotting? Still drawn by the urge to find the research? What is he looking for? A secret compartment housing key documents? A simple shift of his weight from one foot to the other exposes a panel on the wall. Not looking for a compartment – _found._

Clint would be keeping a closer eye on Loki as well if he’d heard more of the conversation held between the pair of you. At the moment Clint seems to have come to the conclusion that Loki is a past enemy that he can work alongside. If he knew Loki’s presence here was tied to the tesseract he might feel differently.

Your heartbeat increases and you try to drag Wallace and Clint towards the hallway, towards Loki, and the wall that has him occupied. As you draw closer he steps back, pulling his hand away from the panel that you’re kicking yourself for not noticing before, electrical circuits now exposed. It’s not hard to miss the flash of green that jumps from his hand to the wall when it occurs. “What are you doing?!”

The hiss and crackle that greets your ears accompanies his expectant look and the smell of melting wiring. “Providing incentive to leave. Quickly.”

He’s willing to destroy the research? It’s a fleeting thought that gives you hope. Far more likely – the fact that he knows neither you nor Clint will allow him to seek out the research. With that cause lost he’s put everyone in an incredible amount of danger just to prevent anyone else from getting their hands on the research.

He’s used his magic to start an electrical fire.

The age of the housing and wiring, even considering the damp of the substation– the whole place will alight. It will race through the walls of the substation, the insulation to combat the cold fueling the flames – and your group is currently deep within the compound. All the dust and abandoned furniture, various supply rooms filled with combustibles? You’ve yet to see the first glimpse of flame but the smell of burning plastic is already growing stronger, threatening to make you gag.

“Ok,” Clint croaks, urging you and Wallace forward. “We need to go. We need to go, _now_.”

It’s a struggle to navigate the hallway three abreast so Clint takes the majority of Wallace’s weight. It frees you to hurry down the hallway to find Stuart, still bound and waiting for the group in the antechamber that had been hidden behind the rubble. Gagged and bound, it’s all Stuart can do to watch everyone’s approach with wide eyes. Behind you, you can hear the fire gaining strength. You send up a silent prayer, knowing the billowing smoke will soon follow and fill the hallways. Hopefully the five of you will be far enough through the underground labyrinth that it won’t matter when the first explosion rocks the installation.

Loki stops you from stooping down to help Stuart up. He gives his head a hard shake before roughly lifting Stuart to his feet, apparently intent on throwing the man over his shoulders again. What that might look like with Stuart aware versus unconscious gives you momentary pause. It would be an action far less graceful if Stuart resists the motion. “I’ve got him, Agent. Lead.”

You’re not quite ready to take orders from the man that set the fucking substation on fire. “You’ve studied the compound. _You_ lead.”

“Please, stop being difficult,” he sighs, almost growling out the words as he produces one of the blades you had removed from Stuart’s possession and slices through the binding at Stuart’s feet.

Clint scowls, half dragging Wallace into the antechamber, “Everyone’s going to take turns explaining things after we’re on the jet.”

“I’m being difficult?! I’m not the one that started the fire!” The heat from which you can already feel. For once there isn’t a slight chill to the air of the substation, not that you’ve got time to enjoy it. Stand around too long and it won’t be enjoyable at all.

“Argue later,” Clint grips your arm, and you end up accepting part of Wallace’s weight again. “Move now.”

Noxious smoke is starting to billow up from the seams in the walls. There’s little time to think as you lead the way through the hallways. No time to pause and veer off course to gather anything you might have wanted to take with you upon leaving. Of personal belongings that you had brought with you to the subarctic very few things are irreplaceable – but there had been a few. Photographs of family members that, if the fire consumes them, can never be replaced. Everything else? Just things.

Still that’s not what occupies your mind as you run. Not as you try to ignore the increasing heat on your skin, or the smoke that leaves you mildly lightheaded and dulls the false light illuminating the corridors. You focus on the way out, the path to safety, but occasionally your mind strays, drifting back to Loki. Loki’s presence here. The tenderness of his touch, the explanations he had offered, and the way he had withdrawn the moment Clint entered the hidden room.

Running from something is easier when you don’t glance back. It slows you down. Even knowing that you can’t help but look over your shoulder periodically, and snatch glances as you turn corners, checking to make sure he’s still there. He is there, dragging Stuart along and staying no more than a few paces behind.

Nobody attempts to talk beyond half-coughed directions and grunts of acknowledgement. At the final security point that stands between you, the frigid cold, and the location Clint had parked his jet, you pause the group – knowing that jackets are needed before you venture out – of which there are two. Two jackets for four people – Loki not needing one – and no time to gather more.

Clint has one of the two jackets off the hook and in his possession, shoving the other into your hands before you can protest, “Don’t argue. Put it on. We’ll run them to the jet and be gone before it can be a problem.”

Wallace still looks out with unseeing eyes, so he probably won’t care one way or the other – but Stuart is fully aware of what’s going on. If you and Loki linger while Clint lowers the ramp for the jet, just outside the substation gate but not fully exposed to the chilling wind, maybe a mad dash will work. Minimal exposure to the elements. It’s not a choice Clint is happy about going along with but there’s no time to argue. Opening the security door will let in a rush of oxygen to fuel the fire at your backs. You open the door, get everyone out, and leave the fire to consume itself.

Even so cold it bites, the clean air is heaven sent. You breathe it down in short bursts, blinking away sooty tears as it burns your nose and throat. “Had to start. A fucking fire.”

You glance at Loki, indifferent to the chilled air and watching Clint’s progress towards the jet. For looking at Loki, you miss Wallace slip and go down, only turning back upon hearing Clint’s annoyed whoop. He holds up his hand in a command to keep you where you are. Voicing a huff of frustration and ready to ignore him, you look down to find Loki’s hand buried in the fabric of your coat, keeping you beside him within the minimal shelter. He doesn’t release your arm even when you shake it to try to get him to let go.

He watches Clint work to get Wallace to stand again, the ice making it tricky. “I set the fire as much for you as I did for me.”

“What?” You heard him perfectly well, but can’t follow his reasoning. He set the fire for his own selfish reasons. How on earth can he think it was for you?

He turns meet your gaze with a calmness that is beyond you at the moment. “No one can know I was here, Agent. And now no one else will be able to get the research. You think HYDRA will stop seeking it merely because two of their agents failed?”

You force out a short puff of air through your mouth. “Please. You destroyed it, and my _station_ in the process, because – because if you can’t have it, no one can!”

“Why is it that you can never manage a thank you?”

“I should thank you for mortal peril?” You lift your eyebrows, piercing him with an incredulous look.

Loki graces you with a smile, even as he shakes his head. “Always so difficult, Agent. You’ve survived each adventure till now.”

You shudder against the cold. Yes, yes it was the cold and not a reaction to his proximity, his continued grip on your arm that has shifted with his change in stance. “Adventure?” You murmur the word out, testing the truth of it. “I’m not sure how many more _adventures_ with you I can survive…”

“Many, I hope.” He releases his hold on Stuart and pulls you to him, his arms securing the jacket more snugly around you. When he stoops you move to meet him, knowing without instruction the intent of the motion. As his lips connect with yours a heat envelops you that rivals the inside of the station as it burns. So that’s his secret against the cold – or maybe just a small bit of magic he’s deciding to show off.

Almost as abruptly as it happened, he releases you and you’re met with the harshness of the environment once more. The bitter cold, and the loss of the steadying grip, both at once. And then you hear Clint’s shout of alarm. You blink, taking a few steps out from the shelter of the substation, looking at the empty expanse that sits between where you were just standing, and where Clint is emerging from the jet.

Loki is gone – and Stuart with him.


End file.
